Completely and Utterly JohnLocked
by SherLaur
Summary: *Hey guys! Sorry it took so long to update! I've had a lot on with college, however the new chapter is up now and I hope you like it! Big plans for the future...* The first six chapters of my JohnLock love story! Plenty of romance and feels.
1. 1: The Loudest Kind of Silence

1. The Loudest Kind of Silence

John leaned over Sherlock, placing his mug of tea on the coffee table in front of his. The cologne-masked smell of cigarettes hit his nostrils in an all too familiar way. He was smoking again. This was bad. He'd even stopped playing his precious violin over the past week. He just sat, staring into space, or whatever Sherlock's wondrous mind saw.

As John drew back, away from him, he thought he caught Sherlock's eye flicker in his direction but he was probably mistaken. Wishful thinking.

John retired to his room, lay back on his bed and closed his eyes. He was worried about the consulting detective, his partner. _Work_ partner. Sherlock's ice-grey eyes flashed like daggers into John's troubled mind. Those cold, unblinking, mesmerising windows to the soul. _Opaque windows_, thought John.  
With the remainder of his strength, left of over from sleepless nights and manic days with his companion, John heaved himself off the bed and grabbed his jacket in the attempt to do something normal and get some things from the shop.  
Clasping the silver handle of his bedroom door, he swung it open, only to find himself face to face with Sherlock. And he was smiling.  
"I've solved it John!" He said, his voice showed evidence of not being used for days. It had adapted a husky croak. It sung to John's ears. Sherlock's grin was fading. _Why?_ John thought, _oh, a response! He'd solved it!_

"What? How? Who di…" John was babbling like a teenage fan. He felt his face begin to turn red.  
Sherlock interrupted, "It's all sorted! I've called Mrs Van-Heller and explained it all! It was the window cleaner John! The window cleaner!"  
As everything fell into place in John's brain, two feelings washed over him. The first was relief, the case was over! Sherlock would be okay; start eating and sleeping again. The second was less familiar… John found himself thinking how incredible it was to see Sherlock smile.  
Sherlock calmed.  
"Thank you John. I couldn't have done this without you." Sherlock moved forward swiftly and to John's surprise, slid his arms around him, his fingers grazing John's spine as they embraced. John felt hot breath on his ear and something inside him ached.  
Their hug lasted a fraction too long, just enough to make it slightly awkward, before Sherlock pulled away, taking John's breath with him. The two men stood, staring at each other, acknowledging what had just happened.  
John stirred first, "I was just, um, I need to go to the shop," he moved towards the door of their flat, desperate to leave the tension inside. Sherlock looked deflated.

"Oh, okay. Bye then," Sherlock muttered.  
As John closed the door behind him he could feel Sherlock's icy eyes, burning deep into his back.


	2. 2: The Nightmare Before the Storm

2. The Nightmare Before the Storm

It had been four days since the case was solved, since the awkward hug, and Sherlock hadn't uttered a word about it.

Since they had first met everybody they knew had made remarks, (some serious, some humorous), about John and Sherlock's relationship. John was well aware of what people though and he'd stopped correcting them a long time ago. He has assumed that this was because he could no longer be bothered, but what if there was something else…

_No_. John quickly erased that thought from his mind.  
Sherlock was working late at St Bart's, leaving John alone in the flat. Glancing around, John had never noticed how empty it was without Sherlock. How quiet. Even when Sherlock was silent for days on end and barely left his room, John could feel his overwhelming presence, touching every dusty corner of 221B Baker Street.

John felt a pang of loneliness. Unaware of what else to do, John went to bed.

_Sand in his eyes, He couldn't see. Blurred outlines of camouflaged men raced past him whilst he was stuck in this blinded hell. The intense heat scarring his brow and the echoing of a thousand guns in his ears, the fear of knowing any second could be the last…_

John awoke, screaming.

His eyes took a moment to adjust and he saw his bedside clock. The neon green numbers stared back at him. 04:23am. John groaned.  
Suddenly, the bedroom door flung open and Sherlock ran in, panting. Seeing John awake, he halted to a stop, looking embarrassed. Their eyes locked for a moment before they both averted their gaze.  
"What happened?" Sherlock asked, fiddling with the loose top button of his blue-striped pyjamas. "You screamed."  
John debated lying. But was there really any point lying to Sherlock Holmes?  
"Afghanistan," he said, not meaning it to come out as a pathetic whisper, but it doing so all the same. "It was awful." _Understatement._

All emotion dropped from Sherlock's face and a dark chocolate curl fell into his eyes. He swept it back with a slick movement. John realised that neither of them knew quite what to say. Instead, Sherlock placed a steady hand on John's shoulder.

"You're shaking," he uttered, a frown set deep in his forehead. John hadn't noticed how much he had been trembling until Sherlock pointed it out.  
Sherlock's frown melted and what replaced it was something John had never seen before. Concern. Sherlock's hand moved up from John's shoulder and found it's way to his face, cupping his cheek.  
"Please don't be scared," Sherlock pleaded, every word filled with pain. They stayed that way for a moment in the darkness of John's room. Then, as if spooked, Sherlock's hand snatched away and he left the room briskly, closing the door behind him.  
John sat, alone, perched on the edge of his mattress. He could still feel Sherlock's hand on his left cheek and instinctively reached up to feel it. His cheek was warm from Sherlock's touch and John suddenly felt a jolt of electricity skip through his fingertips.  
Confused, he lay back down, and went to sleep.


	3. 3: The Ultimate Confusion

3. The Ultimate Confusion

This was not how John had planned his Thursday evening. Running down a London side street with Sherlock, whilst a madman brandishing a gun was speeding after them. The street was not only dark, but a thick fog was suffocating the surroundings, meaning John could barely see ten feet in front of himself. He could feel the cold air punch his lungs repeatedly as his inward breaths became quicker, and he began to grow tired.  
Sherlock, having much longer legs, started to advance away from the doctor until suddenly he was completely swallowed by the mist and John was alone. _Sherlock you absolute cock, _was all he could think in his urgent state.

Suddenly a hand grabbed John's arm, seemingly from nowhere, and pulled him into a tunnel of darkness. After a dazed few seconds, John realised that he was standing in a very narrow lane, with Sherlock opposite him. The alleyway was so slim that the two men's chests were pressed up against each other, and he could feel Sherlock's racing heat beating against his own.  
John opened his mouth to speak but Sherlock quickly placed his index finger over his lips and mouthed "_shh_". John, still out of breath from running, tried his best to exhale as silently as possibly, which proved quite difficult and Sherlock would wince at every small noise he made.  
Sherlock stiffened and John became aware of footsteps running past their hideout which then faded away seconds later. The detective and the doctor smiled at each other, which then turned into a laugh, their shoulders dancing up and down as they chuckled like school boys.

"Well," said Sherlock, in-between giggles. "That was eventful."  
"Eventful? We could have died you moron!" John couldn't believe his idiotic friend sometimes however he was very thankful for the laughter and ease that he felt at this moment. Things hadn't quite been the same between himself and Sherlock since the incident in his bedroom one week previously. They still talked the way they always had but somehow the flat seemed uncomfortable, with a murky tension in the air, preventing either of them from relaxing and enjoying each others company.

As their laughter deflated a silence fell over the pair and John found himself wanting to extend his arm and play with the curls that bounced so freely on Sherlock's head. He had to clench his fist to restrain himself from doing so.

"Sherlock?"

"Yes?"

"You piss me off."

The consulting detective looked wounded beyond anything John had ever witnessed before and he instantly regretted his words. He tried to justify himself.

"I just mean that… Oh I don't know. Do you even care about me in the slightest because I've been getting very mixed messages lately and I'm very confused?"

Upon finishing his sentence John saw Sherlock's face in the darkness and was horrified to see tears streaming down his friends face, over his razor sharp cheekbones and onto his coat.

Sherlock spoke, "John, I care about you more than I've ever cared about anyone before in my life. I thought you knew this? I never had any friends before I met you and it hurts me so much to know that you how no idea how I feel about you. Since that day I met you at St Bart's I've felt compassion that I didn't know I was capable of. I know I'm an ignorant prick and that's why I never dreamed in a million years that someone like you would want to befriend someone like me. That's why I keep my distance John. Not because I don't care."

After John's initial shock cleared, he became aware of the fact that this was a very unusual conversation to have with a man whilst the two men in question had their chests pressed together and their faces only inches apart. John felt every hair on his body stand on end and a shiver ran down his spine. The night outside of that alleyway was dead, but John felt so alive.

As if Sherlock's feelings matched exactly, he leaned his face down towards John's and their lips met. John could feel Sherlock's tears on his own cheeks now and as Sherlock's tongue parted his lips and slid gracefully into John's mouth, John felt a surge of anger mixed in with a flow of arousal. The question was, did he continue to return the kiss or did he…

John shoved Sherlock away, (which proved difficult because of the tightness of the alley), and ran back out into the street, the road yellow with the light from the streetlamps. Looking back he saw Sherlock's silhouette, frozen to the spot.

After a second of remorse, John dragged his eyes away, and began to stride down the street at great speed. The previous fog remained in the air but John hardly noticed, he wasn't concentrating on what was in front of him, he was very much focusing on the web of emotion happening inside his brain.

Car headlights appeared through the mist and John instantly identified the car as a black cab. Extending his arm caused the taxi to pull over to the side of the road where John climbed into the back seat, give the driver the address, and they were off.

As he put his hands to his face to wipe away the remainder of Sherlock's tears, he was mortified to discover that they were his own.

What the hell had Sherlock done to him?


	4. 4: The Realisation

4. The Realisation

John slammed the door of 221B Baker Street and ran up the stairs, two at a time. Upon entering the living room, his tears now dried onto his face, he flopped down into his chair and prayed to God that Sherlock had not followed him here. _What the hell?_ was all John could think. _Sherlock just KISSED me?_ His anger was dying down and instead he was left with a mixture of confusion and… regret?

Looking back John remembered the look of hurt on Sherlock's face as he broke their kiss and suddenly his gut twisted. For weeks now John had felt that something was brewing between himself and the detective but not this, anything but this. He was NOT GAY. Okay it was true that sometimes he found himself gazing at Sherlock, hard at work and sometimes he felt a knot in his chest when Sherlock grabbed his arm for something or other. John remembered the way he felt in his bedroom after Sherlock snatched his hand away from the doctors blushing cheek. As much as he tried to deny it at the time, John had been disappointed. He had felt like a deflated balloon whilst also feeling so full that he could pop.

John was aware that Sherlock did things to him, strange things, but he had never imagined in a million years that these could be feelings of romance as opposed to the platonic bond he could have sworn they shared.

Suddenly John became aware that he was not alone and averted his eyes to the doorway, certain that Sherlock would be standing there.

It was Mrs Hudson.

John realised what a state he looked, tears on his face, hair bedraggled, still panting partly from his sprint up the stairs and partly from nerves. He attempted to sit up straight as if that would fix everything and make him appear to be fine. It didn't work and he saw the deep worry in Mrs Hudson's eyes as she entered the flat.

"Oh John dear, what on Earth is the matter?" She coaxed, pulling up a wooden chair beside John and taking his hand in hers. In that moment John loved her so much for not sitting in Sherlock's chair. He loved her for knowing that it was his and no-one else's.

He cleared his throat in the attempt to speak, despite not knowing what he was going to say, but no words came out.  
"Just take your time dear," Mrs Hudson smiled a sad smile.

John looked into his landlady's eyes and realised that he could trust her. She was the closest thing to a mother he had and he knew she would understand.  
"Sherlock, kissed me." He heaved a sigh of relief. "And I pushed him away."

Mrs Hudson's face sank, not with disapproval or judgement, simply with knowing that hardship that John was going through. She had seen this coming for a long time.

"Oh my dear, and where is Sherlock now?"

"I don't know. I left him. I ran away."

Mrs Hudson took a deep breath and began to prepare her next words carefully, knowing their paramount importance.

"John, listen. Whether or not you love Sherlock romantically is not my business. I realise that you're having some mixed feelings right now but I also know that despite everything, you most certainly do love Sherlock as a friend. He's your best friend, flatmate and work colleague and you need to make this right. I suspect that you rejecting his kiss tonight was a defence because you're not ready to accept the truth about yourself but regardless of if you enter a relationship right now or not, you still need your friend."

John knew that she was right. They sat together for about a minute before Mrs Hudson patted John's hand, arose from her chair, and left the doctor to his own thoughts.

John began to question every aspect of his friendship with Sherlock. And suddenly, as if out of nowhere, John knew. His heart thumped in his ears as all of his fears became a reality. He _was_ in love with Sherlock Holmes. He _was_ gay. And he had just made the biggest mistake of his life…


	5. 5: The Truth at Last

5. The Truth at Last

John sat in his chair for what seemed like hours, anxiously awaiting Sherlock's return. He dared not go to his room for fear of falling asleep and missing him. Occasionally he would get up and walk around, pacing the length of the flat, but he was conscious that the creaky old floorboards were disturbing Mrs Hudson in her home below so he stopped and returned to the comfort of his armchair.

Despite the sound of the clock ticking on the wall, John lost track of time and he was completely unaware of the hour when he heard Sherlock's steady footsteps, heading up the stairs. John felt his heart pound in every inch of his being, from his fingertips to behind his eyes, as the door of the flat swung open and the tall man in the long coat entered, silently.

The two men locked their gaze and John could see the redness that surrounded Sherlock's blue-grey eyes. You didn't have to be the only consulting detective in the world so see that Sherlock had been crying. Buckets.

John felt the awkwardness swarm around the room and begin to choke him. He needed to say something now or soon enough he would be physically incapable.

John's voice came out as a whisper, as if this was all his heart could manage.

"Sherlock," he said, his voice filled with regret. "I'm so sorry."

"No John, I'm sorry," was the reply. "I didn't mean to throw myself at you like that. I've never felt this way about another human before and I didn't know how to deal with it. I know it's no excuse for damaging our friendship but you do things to me that I didn't even know existed. You've taken my breath but given me life every day since we first met and I find myself drawn to you. I thought only drugs and crime solving could give me this kind of rush but being with you is more exhilarating that any narcotic, or murder. I love you with every ounce of my ridiculous being John Watson, however I know you don't feel the same so, as much as it pains me, I will leave you alone."

Something inside of John sunk.

"Oh God Sherlock, no! That's not what I want!"

The detective looked baffled. John took a deep breath to prepare his confession.

"I… I want you Sherlock."

"But, in the lane… You seemed so angry…"

"I didn't know how I felt. I was confused and scared and frustrated and I didn't want it to be true because then my whole life would have been a lie. I panicked. But I do want you Sherlock. I always have," he paused. "You had me at 'Afghanistan or Iraq?'"

Sherlock laughed and John continued.

"But despite that Sherlock, let's just take things slow okay?" John proposed, praying he wouldn't take offense. Sherlock gestured for him to arise from his chair and as John did so, Sherlock took the doctors hands in his own.

"I will do anything to keep you happy." Sherlock's eyes lit up, a mischievous glint dancing in his dilated pupils. "But can I at least kiss you now?"

John managed a nervous nod. Slowly, Sherlock placed his hands on John's hips and pulled him forward so their bodies were pressed together. He then leaned down and pressed his lips, still cold from the outside air, against Johns. As they grew more comfortable, they adapted to each others rhythms and the kiss gained intensity.

They eventually pulled away and for a moment paused, in complete silence, which was only broken by the sound of their heavy breath, ragged with passion. John felt so at peace.

"Sherlock?"

"Hm?"

"I love you."


	6. 6: The Honeymoon Period

6. The Honeymoon Period

John awoke to the sensation of hot breath on the nape of his neck, shortly followed by a trail of delicate kisses creeping down his shoulders.

"Sherlock… Sherlock!"

He turned to see the detectives teasing grin, lit by the rays of early morning sunshine leaking in from the crack in the curtains.

. "You love it really," Sherlock said, playfully, and John sighed because it was true. He did love it. The last three weeks had been bliss. Beautiful, if a little confusing, John and Sherlock had spent every waking moment together be it working, sleeping, eating or… well, anything else. Since they had confessed their love in the living room of 221B life had felt too good to be true.

John looked at his lover now, wearing nothing but blue and white striped pyjama bottoms, his brown curls bedraggled and wild, and he smiled.

"What's that grin for?" Sherlock questioned, using his index finger to trace John's lips, almost as if he wanted to remember everything about his smile, not only the sight but the physical feel, and lock it away in his mind palace, forever.

"You," John sighed, removing Sherlock's hand from his face and entwining the man's fingers with his own. "You make everything good. Everything exciting."

Sherlock's face wore the same expression that it did every time John complimented him. The crinkles on Sherlock's forehead showed such confusion, as if the thought of anyone loving him was too bizarre to even contemplate however his eyes burned with hope and gratitude, like a puppy being awarded a treat. It broke John's heart. His poor damaged Sherlock…

"I love you Mr Holmes," John stressed, for what seemed like the hundredth time and Sherlock's expression softened.

"Well in that case, I love you too Dr Watson." The two men locked lips as proof of their love and, without any more words, drifted back into slumber, safe in each other's arms.

For now.


End file.
